#she was eating my hand

[hinamie]

10 years later

[cry-ptidd]

"And she had brown eyes like a lamb, innocent and golden"

[rottengurlz]

"my jugular misses your teeth." 🩸

a collab with @kashisun 🔪

[satans-knitwear]

My eyes are up there ^^ keep going, at the top. 👀

Treat me ~ Tip Me ~ More of me

[black-and-yellow]

You know what time it is. (it's micnight time).

[wigglebox]

Destiel Hot Summer - Unexpected 🙈

[anonymocha]

[anyroads]

British people: these avocados must go they're past their prime please won't someone eat them

The avocados:

[logicheartsoul]

One of the things I like about seeing things in the highest resolution possible is that you can see tiny but important details that get lost otherwise. The moment from the deleted scene is short but we get a lot of information about Sarah, Sarah and Sam's relationship as siblings, and just also how well the comedic timing of all this is, on top of the canon sarahbucky content.

I just love seeing the variety of expressions Sarah gets to be shown just from this once scene alone! And of course she shares another stare and look with Bucky.

And just look at how deliberate Sam was in stealing the chair when he knew she was interested in it 😂 You know he loves teasing her

[spitinsideme]

I can see nun Pomni being a bit weird about her period, like "this is punishment from god" type of shit. While demon Ragatha "nah girl this a blessing", then proceeds to go down on her :3

GOING DOWN ON A WOAMN WHILST SHES ON HER PERIOD IS TJE BIGGEST BLESSING OF ALL !!!! DEMON RAGATHA UNDERSTANDS

[desultory-novice]

Treasured Treats

@jojo-schmo

[lovesickeros]

☆ love; heretical and divine

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 0.8k

To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.

To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.

To love a God is to sin.

The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.

But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.

She loves a God like a lover should.

A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.

She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.

No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.

The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.

It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.

For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.

She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.

She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.

But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.

Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.

There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.

To love is to be human, and they are no God.

Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..

She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.

To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.

Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.

An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.

[solarockk]

My beautifull princess with a disorder <3

[zerguette]

@cosmicdenro -politely hands you art- here, a Righty

But also

:D (I love i did draw them correctly,,,)

[cam-stopped-eating-candles]

Jane ‘Doe’ A deer?

[screechingfromthevoid]

The cape wrapping was too much for me I have to leave